


Look to the Sky

by snarky_saxophonist



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Time Loop, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-05 07:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist
Summary: As a starting pitcher, Kyle knows better than most players that you only get one shot, one game out of every five to go out there and leave it all on the line. Most days, he wouldn't have it any other way. Most days, the universe doesn't repeat itself.





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [spilborghs (carebearstare)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carebearstare/pseuds/spilborghs) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> A Groundhog Day style AU where the same day (and same terrible game) happens over and over again. Player A is the only one who realizes what's going on and is the one who has to/can stop it.  
> If you go ships, Player B (Player A's crush) gets more annoyed with Player A the more the same day happens.
> 
> This is a work of fiction and is in no way intended to reflect real life. If you or anyone you know personally is tagged in this, please close out of it now. 
> 
> Warning for a head injury to a non-POV character.

The familiar blaring of Kyle’s gameday alarm pulls him out of sleep, the opening of “Smoke on the Water” reminding Kyle that he’s starting today. He hits snooze on his phone, setting it back on his bedside table as Max pads over from the foot of the bed, headbutting Kyle’s chin gently.

“Morning, buddy,” Kyle says to his cat, scratching behind her ears. Max starts purring immediately, affectionately rubbing against Kyle.

Still petting Max, Kyle grabs his phone again to check for messages. There are a few from his parents, Hickey, and Maddon, as well as a couple from Willy, confirming that he’ll be catching for Kyle today and saying that he’ll see Kyle at Wrigley for going over their game plan. 

Kyle puts his phone back down, taking a deep breath and scooping Max up so he can feed her before her protests cause the neighbors to file a noise complaint. It’s a day game today and against the Cardinals, which means that he absolutely needs to be in his pitching headspace.

It’s a familiar routine; feeding Max, making breakfast for himself as she tries to make a case to get a second breakfast, getting himself ready and tossing his things in a bag, giving Max one final scratch behind the ears, and cueing up his usual playlist for the walk to the park.

“Morning!” As usual on days he’s starting, Willy is the first one to greet Kyle when he gets into the locker room. His enthusiasm, while familiar, is always slightly jarring after Kyle’s quiet, music filled walk.

“Hey. Want to go over the game plan?” Kyle asks, stowing his bag and phone. He still feels slightly detached from the chatter around him, but that’s a normal occurrence for his starts. 

“Yeah,” Willy says, more than used to Kyle’s demeanor by now. He traipses through the clubhouse, Kyle trailing behind him, to where they meet with Borzello and Hickey to go over video and finalize their approach. The process doesn’t require all that much input from Kyle anymore, as all these guys know him and his tendencies well enough at this point that they’re all pretty much in agreement about what they want to do.

Hickey nods once, his usual conclusion to one of these sessions. “Alright, go start getting ready for the game. I’ll see you both in the bullpen at the usual time.”

“Yeah,” Willy agrees. Kyle just nods in return, heading back to the locker room behind his catcher so he can change into workout gear in order to get in his usual pregame round of light yoga.

A couple of hours later, stretched out and mentally quiet, Kyle walks with Willy across the field towards the bullpen to warm up. Willy’s chatting away, as per usual, and Kyle lets the cadence of Willy’s voice wash over him.

The warmup bullpen goes fine, but Kyle’s curve isn’t moving as much as he usually gets it too. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything for how it’ll be for the game, but he doesn’t like not having it solid, in order to better set up his changeup. His fastball's moving where he wants it too, and the changeup is its usual beauty, so it could be worse. And, if the noise he can hear even from the protected area of the bullpen is any indication, there's a lot of people hoping his stuff will be on the better side today, Kyle included.

“Ready for this?” Willy asks before they leave the bullpen. Kyle nods silently, punching a hand into his glove a few times to make sure it’s got the feel he wants, and the two of them join the team in the dugout before being introduced.

The few extra warmup pitches Kyle throws on the field feel better than the ones in the bullpen, so he feels more confident than earlier when Carpenter steps into the box. 

That confidence, of course, disappears two pitches later, when Carpenter smokes a single into right. Kyle almost wishes he were John Lackey, so he could drop a few curses on the mound without anybody batting an eyelid. And in fact, Kyle wishes Molina could just bat an eyelid instead of a baseball bat.

It’s hard to tell under the mask, but Willy seems concerned and just about ready to use up one of the mound visits to talk Kyle down. Kyle shakes his head minutely, signaling for Willy to throw him a ball without coming to talk to him. His body language doesn’t speak to him being particularly happy, but he doesn’t protest.

Yadi, thankfully, does exactly what Kyle and Willy had planned for and rolls over on a curve to short. Kyle doesn’t think it’s hit hard enough to get more than one out, but Javy Báez lives to prove him and everybody else wrong, and Kyle’s looking at empty bases with two outs, now. Martinez goes down easy on a gorgeous changeup, and Kyle’s through a scoreless first. Which is rare enough for him, this season, that he’ll take it.

The Cubs don’t score any runs for him in the first, although Rizzo does draw a two out walk, so at least the offense isn’t completely dead. The second inning’s always easier for Kyle, once he’s settled into a bit of a rhythm, and he sets down the side easily.

The next few innings continue in much the same manner, until Kyle figures it can probably be called a pitcher’s duel. He’s well aware that Joe will pull him at any opportunity to scratch across a run or two, so he doesn’t worry much about his pitch count, just focusing on not giving up a meatball for the Cards to feast on.

Flaherty starts to fall apart in the bottom of the sixth, when Almora singles with one out and Willy knocks the next pitch into left center for a double. Since Albert’s just about the slowest baseball player Kyle’s seen who isn’t in his late thirties, he doesn’t even score on it, but Schwarber’s groundout a few pitches later takes care of that, and Kyle’s got a tiny bit of breathing room.

They don’t manage to drive Willy in, but Kyle’s almost glad, because Joe probably would’ve put Tommy in to pinch hit for him if his turn in the order had come up. Instead he gets to go out there for the top of the seventh, although Joe will certainly pull him the second he starts showing signs of fatigue or gets into a little bit of trouble.

Bader walks, but the last two calls were certainly strikes that the ump missed, so Joe goes out to talk to him instead of Kyle. The pitcher uses the brief respite to put his glove over his face and breathe deeply, pushing away his anger at the ump’s blindness. He can get Muñoz out, he knows he can, as long as Joe gives him a bit more leeway.

His manager neither gets ejected nor pulls Kyle, so Kyle gets the ball back from Willy and gets Muñoz on a fastball with a little more bite than he usually throws. It’s the third double play of the game for Kyle, which has done wonders for his pitch count. He’s almost expecting Joe to come trotting out of the dugout now, signaling for a lefty out of the pen with a lefty pinch hitting. 

No such move appears forthcoming, so Kyle puts a two seamer exactly where Willy wants it, just on the corner for a called strike. The next pitch Willy calls for is another fastball, this time on the outside corner.

DeJong looks like he’s going to miss it, but at the last second gets his bat on it, fouling it off – straight back into Willy’s mask.

Willy falls backwards, stunned, the baseball dropping somewhere off in foul territory as Kyle waits for Willy to get back up. But he’s still sitting behind home plate, mask still on and glove dangling limply from his hand. Both the umpire and DeJong step in, the ump putting a hand on Willy’s shoulder.

Joe and the trainer are out there a few seconds later, PJ crouching in front of Willy and helping him remove his mask. Frozen in place, Kyle doesn’t even notice that the rest of the infield has converged on the mound until Rizzo puts a reassuring hand on his lower back.

“He’ll be alright,” the first baseman says, voice pitched low, and Kyle nods woodenly, just as PJ and Joe help Willy back to his feet and straight off the field. He stares at Willy’s retreating figure until he can no longer see him, until Caratini jogs out to the mound to conference with the rest of them.

“You good, Hendricks?” Caratini asks, mask down so that the rest of the world can’t see his reaction to Kyle’s distress.

“Come on, Kyle, you gotta pitch,” Rizzo says. “DeJong can’t hit you, just go get one more strike.”

When Kyle takes too long to respond, Rizzo uses the hand still on Kyle’s back to shove him slightly. Kyle stumbles, catching himself before he can trip and fall off the mound in front of everybody, and shoots Rizzo a glare. His first baseman just grins and pats Kyle on the arm, heading back to his base. The rest of the infield follows his cues, and Kyle’s alone on the mound again. He’s just got one more strike to get, and then he’s out of the inning.

Kyle knows, from the second the baseball leaves his hand, that it’s not going to be a strike. It’s not going to be an out of any kind, or even just a base hit. No, that ball’s going straight into the bleachers, the game is tied, and Kyle’s night is going to be done as soon as Joe makes it out to the mound.

 

Back in the clubhouse getting his arm fluffed out by the trainers, Kyle takes what feels like his first deep breath since seeing Willy get hurt. His arm’s tired, but he’s sure he feels better than Willy does right now. Not that the trainers will tell him anything except that he’s still getting checked out.

The team loses, the bullpen blowing up and giving up seven runs along with the seven outs Kyle had left them to get. Kyle’s disappointed, of course, but not surprised. A loss had felt like an inevitability from the moment that baseball had slammed into Willy’s mask.

He goes through the motions with the media, giving them the answers they expect to hear about feeling good and just leaving that one pitch up a little too much. He deflects from how a few of them want him to blame the bullpen, instead pointing out that they’ve been rock solid and picked up the starters all season.

“Contreras getting hurt, did that rattle you?” Jesse Rogers asks, and Kyle actually takes a moment before answering. He hasn’t expected being asked directly.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s always tough to see a teammate get hurt. But that next pitch was still on me, and it was just a matter of putting it in the exact wrong spot.”

The reporters only ask a few more cursory questions after that, so Kyle’s finally free to head out for the night. He has yet to hear from Willy, so he just gives Duensing a reassuring pat on the shoulder and heads straight for his car, not talking to anybody as he goes.

By the time Kyle’s ready for bed, with Max curled up next to his pillow and looking up expectantly at him, his phone finally buzzes with a text from Willy. Kyle’s never been one to wait to look at potential bad news, because no matter when you see it the news will be the same, but he’s slightly nervous as his phone screen unlocks impossibly slowly.

>Bad concussion. Might be done for the season.

Kyle’s heart drops into his throat and he nearly chokes on his next breath. It’s the beginning of August, if the trainers are already saying that his season might be done…

>I’m so sorry, Willy. I hope it turns out to be not as bad as they think and that you feel better soon.

Kyle plugs his phone in, setting his post-start alarm for an hour later than today’s had been and burying his face into Max’s fur as he turns out the light. Willy doesn’t deserve this shit luck, and certainly not when the injury had been Kyle’s fault in the first place. If he’d managed just a little more spin or velo on that one pitch, then maybe Willy wouldn’t be injured and potentially losing months of his season.

“Fuck, Max,” Kyle whispers, shifting so he can scratch behind her ears until she starts purring. “It’ll look better tomorrow, right?”

Max doesn’t say anything, which is a given considering she’s a cat, but she leans her head forward to sniff at his face, whiskers brushing over his cheeks gently.

“Thanks,” Kyle whispers, letting his eyes slide shut. He just wants today to be over.

 

Kyle wakes feeling nearly as exhausted as he’d felt when he’d gone to sleep, frowning when he hears the alarm for the days he’s starting. He must’ve forgotten to change it the night before.


	2. Day 2

Kyle wakes feeling nearly as exhausted as he’d felt when he’d gone to sleep, frowning when he hears the alarm for the days he’s starting. He must’ve forgotten to change it the night before.

Gently moving Max aside so he can get at his phone, Kyle’s surprised to see texts from Maddon, Hickey, and Willson. It’s a little odd to hear from Maddon and Hickey the day after a game, but the whole organization is big on communication, so maybe they just wanted to check in after yesterday’s disaster. And hopefully Willy being up for texting means that he’s feeling a bit better.

More unusual than any of that, however, is the lack of messages from Tim Buss. Their strength coach always texts the day after a start, reminding the pitchers what time he wants them there for their post-start workout. Although he’s awake earlier than usual, so maybe Buss just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Kyle says to Max, pushing himself out of bed and scooping up his phone and the cat. Since he’s awake now, he might as well get an early start on the day and get some laundry done.

Except, when he gets into the kitchen, the basket of laundry he’d left out yesterday before he’d gone to the park isn’t there. He’s absolutely certain he’d gotten it out, because he’d been trying to make it as easy as possible to actually do the laundry so he’d stop putting it off.

“Jon?” he calls tentatively. It’s possible his friend had stopped by to help out, especially with how concerned he’d seemed about Kyle after yesterday’s game, but also unlikely. “Max, what’s going on?”

Max just meows at him to be let down, so Kyle ignores it for the time being so he can feed his cat. When he goes into the fridge to make his own breakfast, cursing himself for not buying more eggs after he’d run out yesterday morning, he finds a carton with three eggs still in it. But he’d used those eggs yesterday.

Abandoning his attempt at breakfast for the moment, Kyle goes back to his phone to see what the texts were, pausing in surprise when he sees the date on it. That can’t be right, Friday the tenth was yesterday. But the texts are all the same as he remembers from yesterday, addressing him as if he’s starting today. And a Google search reveals that Q was yesterday’s starting pitcher, not Kyle.

Now that he thinks about it, his arm doesn’t feel like he’d pitched yesterday. So yesterday must’ve all been a dream. A realistic dream, sure, but all of his starts follow a similar enough pattern that his brain could’ve easily latched onto the rhythm. So Willy’s not hurt, and Kyle still has another shot to win the game, and make sure his catcher doesn’t get hurt. It’ll be fine.

 

“Hey, Rizz, Willy,” Kyle greets cheerfully when he gets to the locker room. Willy returns the greeting with a smile, but Rizzo just stares at him.

“You know you’re starting today, right?” he asks suspiciously. “You never talk to us on days when you’re starting.”

“Well, if that’s the response I get to a simple hello, I’ll make sure not to in the future,” Kyle shoots back, phone and bag already stowed in his locker. “Ready to go, Willy?” 

“Yeah,” Willy says, putting his stuff down and heading over to the door. Kyle follows him again, content to let the meeting with Borzello and Hickey play out just like it had in his dream. It’s not that weird, though, because Kyle spends his days in the dugout thinking through how he’d attack hitters, and besides he’s worked with Borzello for five years now. It makes sense that he can map out a pitching meeting in his sleep, literally.

Kyle settles into his usual pregame routine, his earlier enthusiasm at getting a chance to redo that disastrous game from his dream burning off into his usual determined mental quiet.

It’s not until Kyle’s on the mound, staring down at Carpenter in the box, that he starts to doubt himself. Last time, he’d left the curve up a little bit on the second pitch, and Carpenter had managed a hit. Should he stick with their plan, or try a different pitch or location?

Kyle throws the first pitch fastball exactly where he had in his dream, and with that, decides to just pitch like a normal game. It is a normal game, after all, because he hasn’t played it before. He just needs to trust the process.

The first inning proceeds exactly the same as in his dream, with Molina grounding into a double play thanks to Javy’s brilliance and Rizzo walking with two outs in the bottom of the inning. Kyle’s starting to get a weird feeling about all of this, but he figures that he’ll stick to the plan until the third batter of the seventh inning. The Cubs get their one run, Kyle goes back out for the seventh, walks Bader, gets Muñoz on a double play, and throws a first pitch strike to DeJong. Then he has a decision to make.

Willy’s calling for an outside fastball, just on the edge. It’s the exact same pitch he’d called before getting hit and crumpling behind the plate, an image that’s already seared itself into Kyle’s memory. But that was just a bad dream, so it’s not like it’s going to happen again. Regardless, with the rest of the game proceeding exactly as in his dream, Kyle doesn’t want to risk it.

Kyle nods at his catcher, breathes, and throws the fastball – aiming for a spot several inches from where Willy’s calling it. Close enough that his catcher can get to it, close enough that it can easily be attributed as him missing his spot, but far enough that it’ll prevent what happened last time.

There’s a split second after the ball leaves Kyle’s hand when he thinks it’s going to be fine. Willy shifts ever so slightly so he can be better prepared to catch the ball and frame it as a strike, but Kyle’s breath is sucked out of him a beat later when DeJong gets his bat around faster than he had in Kyle’s dream. There’s the crack of the bat on the ball, and the sickening crunch of the ball impacting with Willy’s mask, then the faint thump as Willy falls backwards.

This time, though, Kyle forces himself to take in a deep breath, heading in to the plate to check on Willy along with Joe and PJ. Maybe it’s not as bad a concussion as in his dream. Maybe Willy’s just stunned. Maybe he’ll be getting up any second.

PJ and Joe provide an effective barrier between Kyle and Willy, but Kyle’s close enough that he can see Willy’s unfocused gaze when PJ gets his mask off. He’s clearly out of it, to the point where PJ spends less than a minute checking him out before declaring that he’s coming out of the game.

PJ has a firm grasp on Willy’s arm as he walks the catcher off the field, the crowd is clapping, Caratini’s coming out of the dugout, catching gear on, and Joe’s conferring with the umpire. It’s not normal, but it’s baseball, and Kyle needs to keep himself together. No giving up a homer to DeJong this time. 

“Alright?” Joe asks, putting a hand on Kyle’s arm. Kyle nods once, breathes, and walks back to the mound. He knows where not to put his next pitch, and he can execute to get this one last out. He’ll almost certainly be done after this inning, regardless of the outcome, so he just needs to make one more good pitch. 

It’s an 0-2 count, so Kyle feels comfortable shaking off Caratini until he calls for a changeup a little outside. DeJong’s going to want to be the hero now, so Kyle’s pretty sure he’s going to chase.

Sure enough, Kyle puts a beautiful changeup just outside the zone, DeJong swings wildly and misses, and the inning is over, lead intact. So one thing was different from his dream, at least.

Unfortunately, it seems to be only that one thing, as the bullpen gives up a half dozen runs in the eighth and ninth, and Willy’s text to Kyle later that night reveals he’ll be missing the same amount of time as he’d said in Kyle’s dream. So it all sucks. 

But, Kyle reasons to himself as he shuts off the light, he knows this wasn’t a dream, so he’ll never have to live today again. He can wake up later tomorrow to his workout alarm, snuggle with Max for a bit, and check on Willy. It’ll all be fine. It has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a comment or kudos or come talk to me on [tumblr](https://snarky-saxophonist.tumblr.com) if you liked it! I'm always down to talk about writing or sports!


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